


Decoherence (III)

by zulu



Series: Decoherence [3]
Category: House M.D., The X-Files
Genre: Crossover, F/F, Female Protagonist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-28
Updated: 2007-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-02 01:03:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zulu/pseuds/zulu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One interpretation of quantum mechanics claims to resolve all the paradoxes of quantum theory by allowing every possible outcome to every event to define or exist in its own "history" or "world", via the mechanism of quantum decoherence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Decoherence (III)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leiascully](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/gifts).



"Pathology Of The Unusual" is the last panel of the day, before the keynote speaker's inevitably somnolent address during dinner. Cuddy ducks in at the last minute to avoid the persistent attentions of a drug rep who's certain she'll like him as much as his products. The answer, for both, is _not at all_.

The talk is interesting, although somewhat dryly delivered. The speaker looks out across her audience with dry skepticism, as if she doesn't expect to be believed, but the detailed, professional autopsy photographs that punctuate her talk certainly can't be anything but real.

Cuddy doesn't have her conference schedule with her, and she's missed the introductory remarks. She stands at the back of the room and watches, not a doctor or a corporate shill, but a woman who loves her work.

She seems to hold herself aloof, but sometimes she slips into girlish excitement when a particularly startling image appears. She must be the photographer as well as the pathologist. The photos are crisp, showing what is there to be seen whether it can be explained or not, never fudging for the sake of results, the small photoshopped arrows pointing to the exact detail that upturns ten, fifty, or a hundred years of medical science. Cuddy wonders who funds her, and how she finds these specimens, and why Cuddy hasn't seen her before or heard her name.

The room doesn't empty early, the way most panels do when there's a dinner ahead and networking to be done. Cuddy waits until the room empties. There's something about her tailored suit, the rebellious hint in the height of her heels, the way her coppery hair curves next to her jaw, that Cuddy respects, recognizes. She wants to say something, to tell this woman secrets.

At work she has become, irrevocably, strangely, _Cuddy_, both to colleagues and to friends; _Doctor_ Cuddy if the underling is scared enough, or the donor respectful, or the board member patronizing. But when she introduces herself, she says, "Lisa Cuddy," instead of her title, and emphasizes her name, tracing her tongue around it like it's something sweet.

"Dana Scully," the other woman replies, with an uncompromising press of her hand; she knows what it's like to join the boys' club. Then she smiles, with the hint of what could be an amazing grin.

Cuddy finds herself grinning back, and she's sure she means to ask _would you like to have dinner with me?_ but instead she tilts her head towards the ballroom, where they can hear the keynote speaker struggling through mic tests, and says, "Wanna ditch?"

Dana's surprised smile is just as brilliant as she'd guessed, and her giggle is even better. "Yes," she says, as if it's obvious, and her eyes seem used to hardness, to suspicion, but they're bright with mischief now.

They take the elevator to Dana's room. Dana reverts to icy professionalism when she opens the door, as if she expects an ambush. She turns on the lights and checks the bathroom, then turns and evaluates Cuddy. It's an intimidating look, but one better suited to shattering the glass ceiling, so Cuddy raises her eyebrows and waits.

"I've had some bad experiences," Dana murmurs, "with hotel rooms and strangers."

"Is that a problem?" Cuddy asks.

Dana takes off the jacket of her suit. She's wearing a holster at the back of her waist, and she takes the gun out, checks the clip so quickly that Cuddy wouldn't have noticed if she weren't watching. She places it on the end table, where it will be within easy reach from the bed.

"You weren't kidding," Cuddy says.

"Is that a problem?" Dana asks.

Cuddy shrugs lightly. "I don't think so."

Dana raises an eyebrow, but Cuddy grins again, because she knows that it's a mask. They've spent two days in this four-star hotel, surrounded by colleagues flicking business cards around and acting distinguished. Cuddy's talked and smiled and been seen. She's here to forget that, to flout it, so she crosses the room and kisses Dana, deep and full.

Dana lets her head fall back, and her hair brushes across Cuddy's wrist where she's raised a hand to cup Dana's cheek. Cuddy shivers. Dana's mouth is warm, her kiss tentative at first and her tongue elusive. Cuddy takes her time, tilts her head inquiringly, lets Dana discover her. Dana finds her bra strap under her shirt, the small buttons on her blouse, the zip on her skirt; Cuddy finds lace under Dana's careful suit, slippery stockings under her pants, and rose-warm skin under it all.

The hotel bedspread is cheap and scratchy, but the sheets are clean and smooth. They lie next to each other, Dana half beside and half on top, and whatever inhibitions she'd had disappear when Cuddy strokes her from breast to waist to hip. Dana moves closer, their legs tangling. Her hip rubs against Cuddy's mons every time she stretches up to kiss Cuddy on the lips, the throat. Cuddy lifts her thigh until she is doing the same for Dana, flexing her muscles in nudging thrusts that reflect the rhythm of Dana's quick light breathing.

They rock into each other. Dana's wetness is slick against her thigh, and her hip is hard and wonderful against Cuddy's clit. She comes without thought, letting her orgasm flood through her, hot as the first touch of steaming bathwater. Above her, Dana's eyes are closed, and her thrusts turn stuttering and harder. Cuddy lifts her leg to a better angle, and Dana comes, too, gasping and silent.

Afterwards, Dana grins at her, and she grinds her hips in slow circles, and Cuddy gasps and comes again, wrapping a leg around Dana's ass to bring her closer, to pull her deeper.

They don't end, then, but take their time, resting and then driving each other to the heights, until Cuddy's exhausted with pleasure and Dana collapses beside her. They sleep, and wake, and in the morning they are professional strangers once again.


End file.
